


Birthday Suit

by ktbl



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Blowjobs, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Kinktober 2020, Married Sex, Military Kink, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot, Smut, Uniform Kink, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: It's Johnny's birthday, and there's only one thing he wants.-Kinktober 2020 Day 10: uniform kink.
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Johnny Cage
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	Birthday Suit

Johnny’s eyes gleam with anticipation as he stands in the back of the hall, hands loose at his sides. He feels a little dirty, more than a little like a voyeur, watching when he’s not sure she knows he’s here. They’d agreed this morning he would pick her up at seven-thirty, after Sonya had finished the promotion ceremonies. He’s here a few minutes early - not by intent, just pure fucking luck - and he takes the time to savor watching his wife. There’s something about her, in the dark blue formal dress, that utterly destroys any restraint he’s ever had. Dress blues look perfect on her, especially because they show off the long columns of her legs, the sun-gold plait of hair that she lets hang down even though it’s not regulation. The uniform skirt hangs exactly one inch above her knees, and he can see what she calls “fruit salad” - the collection of miniature ribbons on her chest he can’t begin to identify. She’s barely into her thirties and carrying a pile of them, a visible checklist of the things she’s endured. Except there’s no badge for the Mortal Kombat tournament, no pins and ribbons for killing sorcerers and fighting demons. She says the service figured out a way to reward her for kicking ass in uniform, and he’s willing to believe her. If it’s one of those pins, he’s got no idea.

He leans against the wall, and pulls out his phone. They’ve got dinner reservations in half an hour, and the place is twenty minutes away - they won’t be too late, if he’s lucky, but he’s not holding his breath. He snaps a few covert pictures of her when the angle’s right, and he probably should feel worse about it than he does.

She catches sight of him and he can’t miss the roll of her eyes, even from this far away. She flips him the bird and he blatantly takes a picture of that, too. She turns away from him pointedly, and he savors how the skirt hugs her ass. She adjusts her hair, conveniently showing him a middle finger again. She really _does_ know him. Two minutes later, Sonya walks over, a path parting for her like the Red Sea. He calls it her murder walk, and finds it particularly pleasing to be married to a woman who can part crowds with her presence. She’s wearing heels tonight and they push her up to his height, almost perfectly. He reaches up to flick her name tag on the jacket.

“One day I’ll get you to change this to Cage, instead of Blade.”

“I knew I married a guy with uncontrollable imagination, but now you’re going a little far. You want a Cage in the service, you’ll have to talk to your daughter about that.”

“She’s two, and you call her Private Pumpkin. That doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, well.” Sonya shrugs. “I have to finish up here, maybe another five minutes, and then we can go out to dinner or do whatever half-cocked birthday plan you’ve got made up for yourself.”

“Half-cocked?” He gives her an indignant look, and looks downward pointedly. He’s usually in control of his body, but where she’s concerned, he is always its victim; there’s already the signs of desire stirring there. If he has to stare at her for another five minutes, walking out is going to be uncomfortable. “Really?”

“Is that for me?” Sonya bats her lashes and it does things to him he didn’t think were physiologically possible. She snorts and bumps him with her shoulder. “I thought that was just your phone in your pocket. Like I said, five minutes. Keep it in your pants. Promotions are important.”

“Hey, I’m grateful they got you into your uniform for it. Surprised you didn’t go with the pants, though. I mean, not that I’m complaining-“ He stops as she turns away, and then glances back over her shoulder, one corner of her lips pulling up in a smile full of all kinds of promises that make him weak-kneed.

“Maybe the skirt’s for the birthday boy.”

Johnny had to play every card in his hand to get the dinner reservations and the good table, but it’s worth it to walk in the door with his wife on his arm in her dress blues. There are paparazzi lurking outside, given the exclusivity of the restaurant and its popularity, but she doesn’t even bother to threaten them too badly. Dinner goes off without a hitch, and the handoff when they got home is equally fast; only five minutes with the babysitter. Four minutes and thirty seconds too long for Johnny.

Cassie has been out for hours, and Sonya spares a glance and a check out of parental paranoia to make sure there’s still the rise and fall of a small chest. Just to be sure it’s sleep. Johnny’s almost sure he can see her shoulders relax slightly as she steps out of the room, tugging the door half-shut.

“So,” she says, standing with her hands on her hips. “She’s out like a light. What’s the plan?”

“Come on, soldier,” he says, surprised at how low his own voice has gone all of a sudden. “Bedroom.”

“Meet you there in two minutes,” she says, pushing him along ahead of her. “Promise.”

He wonders what she’s up to, and then can see it the moment she sets foot in the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. She’s touched up her hair and put it back in the tight braid she favors. She has also put on decidedly unregulation lipstick, calling attention to the crimson bow of her mouth. She’s just that right side of being in uniform that it mashes every single one of his buttons like a kid at the arcade.

“So. You got plans tonight, Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Might have one or two.” She walks up to him, a few inches shorter now that she’s out of her heels. “Question is more if _you_ have anything specific.”

“I want to fuck you senseless. In that.”

“How’d I guess.” She walks up to him and he closes his hands on her lapels, pulling her close. He’s waited all night to kiss her, and she opens her mouth easily for him, though he’s not sure it’s any kind of yielding at all. Her tongue slides around hisand he knots his fingers in her jacket and holds her against him, feeling the metal insignia press into his shirt. They find a give and take of tongues and breath, and his nerves light up with pleasure.

“Happy birthday, handsome.” She pauses for just a moment, fingers working at the buttons on his shirt. “Surprised you’ve lived this long.”

“Me too.” Johnny grins, a little wryly, and grasps her hands at the wrists, kissing the soft undersides just at the cuff. “Think I’ll make it to the next one?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she replies, kissing him again, and then stepping back. “One thing at a time. I’ve got only one rule tonight.”

“I thought I got to make the rules,” he says with an exaggerated frown.

“You wake the girl up, you get her back to sleep.”

Johnny gives her a half-laugh, and nuzzles into her neck, dragging his teeth along the skin there. She shivers, and he swears he can feel her heartbeat pounding. “I think I can handle that.” She slides down towards the floor, resting on her knees. Her fingers work at the flashy belt buckle, letting it hang loose to one side. She looks up at him with an indulgent, amused smile, and she places a hand over the bulge already tenting his pants. She palms his cock through the fabric and he lets out a deep groan, mind already busy with thoughts about what she’ll do - what he wants her to do.

She unzips the fly of his suit pants and reaches in, stroking him again through the fabric. With less between them now, her hand is warmer, her touch firmer, and he lets out another guttural noise of want. He’s lost in the touch of her hand, and then her mouth, on him through the fabric. Suddenly he feels air - the cool of the bedroom, not the warmth of her breath - on his cock. She’s rucked his clothes down, just enough so his cock can spring free. The sudden shift is surprising and he has just enough of a moment to feel the contrast between clothes and air before she takes him into her mouth.

She looks up at him, and her pupils are blown wide, watching him. Her cheeks hollow as she works him with her mouth, one hand curving around his shaft tightly to work him in time with her tongue. The badges and insignia flicker in the dim bedroom light, and he feels so filthy it’s almost uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be doing this, the taboo flickering through his mind, and he looks down, opens his mouth to tell her to stop.

And then he sees the satisfied look on her face, the intent and intense way she’s sucking on his dick like it’s all she’s ever wanted to do. There’s no way anyone would get Sonya Blade to do anything she didn’t want to. If he’s filthy, she’s there right along with him; if it’s taboo, she’s breaking it at his side. Lust and pleasure pulse through him at the thought. His fingers weave into her hair, the smooth cap of blonde hair going messy as he does. A litany of _fuck, babe_ -s, hissed _yes_ -s, and her name fall from his lips. He wants to do this forever, the warm wet of her mouth around him, only a few pauses to lick a stripe up the side of his shaft or to wriggle the tip of her tongue along the slit, and that downright catlike look of satisfaction in her eyes when he goes even more incoherent. Heat pools at the base of his spine, tendrils creeping out into the rest of his body, nerves aflame with want.. She swallows and the things it does to her mouth, the way her cheeks and tongue shift, makes him shudder. This is good. This is better than good.

Her cheeks hollow as she dives down on him, taking more of him into her mouth. Her head bobs and he can’t think of anything, anywhere, that could compare to this. He can hear his own pulse loud as thunder in his ears. He looks down again to see her mouth come off him with an audible pop. He whines with need, and she looks up at him, meets his eyes, and keeps eye contact as she goes back down with an almost malicious slowness until he’s deeper in her mouth than he’s ever been.

His climax is on him faster than he realizes, too many buttons being pushed all at once. His wife, on her knees, in uniform, the smear of her spit-slick lipstick on her face and along his dick. She hums, the vibrations shattering the last bits of control. He can’t help it now, starts thrusting into her mouth, and she just hums all the more, the flat of her tongue here, then there, and she _has_ to know he’s close. One hand cups his balls, the other working the base of his shaft, and it’s a matter of seconds before his hips are jerking and there’s that too-damn-good feeling of her mouth around him as she swallows and keeps going, licking and lapping at him until he’s oversensitive and his throat is dry from calling her name.

He drops down onto the bed, not quite flopping backward, but his legs are not willing to cooperate at the moment. His breathing is ragged, and he can’t find the energy to pull his pants back up or to take them off the rest of the way.

“Babe, you didn’t have to-“

“Like I was gonna let you cover my dress blues in that,” she replies with feigned annoyance. She stands up, and he reaches up to wipe something off her face, before pulling her in to kiss. Her hair’s working its way out of the braid and the lipstick is smudged, her lips swollen. He can tell they’re sensitive when he kisses her and she makes a little moan right into his mouth. His dick twitches again, already announcing its willingness to go ahead with a second round. His fingers, meanwhile, work at the buttons of her jacket and then down the front of her shirt, but not all the way. The neck tab goes, and just enough buttons so he can see the white lace bra beneath her shirt.

Johnny tugs her a little closer so she’s straddling him, marks her with kisses, mouth to jaw, down her throat, licking a stripe along her collarbones, leaning forward and kissing at the curve of each breast. He holds her against him, head at just the right angle, and dives in, sucking on the top curve of one breast, drawing skin into his mouth and leaving a red mouth-shaped mark. She doesn’t bat him away; she makes a rough, guttural sound low in her throat and her fingers cup the back of his head, holding him gently in place. He does it again, teeth dragging across the new-made bruises, and she lets out a tiny whimper, grinding against his thigh.

The fresh hickeys are bright and stark against the lace and her skin, framed by the shirt and jacket. Then Sonya is working herself on his leg again, grabbing his face in her hands and kissing him, and he can taste himself in the corners of her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he swears, and she laughs low in her throat. His cock pokes at her, now back to full attention, and she reaches down to brush her hand against it.

“I am. I really am.”

“I really, really want to fuck you, Lieutenant Colonel.” His voice is earnest, and she shifts herself over, lowers herself down onto his cock. He can feel the slick, wet fabric between her legs, and slides his hands up her thighs, pushing the skirt higher. “You are so damn hot, Sonya.” He feels her grind and slide against him, satin smooth against his cock.

“So you’d like me to get out of some of this, then?”

“Just the underwear,” he says after a moment, because he really, _really_ wants to watch her tits bounce with the jacket on. “Dunno if you can get out of the bra, though…”

“I’m smart.” She reaches up, unclips the shoulder straps, and then the back.

“I love strapless bras,” he says, turning his eyes skyward. “Thank you, God.” Johnny takes the bra off the rest of the way, and cups both bare breasts in his hands, thumbs brushing over her nipples. “Don’t suppose the panties are tie-on?”

“Like I could own a string bikini without you seeing it and insisting I wear it around the house,” she snorts. Sonya stands up just long enough to shuck the satin underwear, and she climbs back onto the bed. Before she can straddle him, he edges back further to give her a little more space. When she lowers herself again, she is a vicious manipulative horrible _bitch_ and he can feel the head of his cock slide along her, but not inside.

“LTC,” he says in a voice that might be a plea or might be a warning. She wriggles, and he feels the wet heat of her, but it’s still not _enough_. Her tits bounce, and he takes one into his mouth, tongue curling around her nipple. She makes a frustrated sound, tipping her head back. He grins and chuckles a little, and she makes the sound again at the vibrations. He lifts his head and looks at her, the smeared lipstick and the wide, almost glassy eyes. “I got something you want, soldier?”

“I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” He pulls himself back and lays flat on the bed, dragging her along with him. He bends his knees and she takes the cue, one hand curling around the base of his cock and holding him in place just enough so she can catch the tip inside her. He’s barely in, and she tips her head back and shudders, letting out a low moan that makes her chest rise and fall in the most delightful way. It’s pure torment for him, but his hands settle on her hips and he tugs her down, slowly and inexorably, until his cock is buried in her to the root.

It’s not very clear which one of them is leading and which one is following, as they find a rhythm that satisfies both of them. He has the perfect view of the dishevelment he’s had a hand in. When she leans back, her body arches in just the right way to let him see everything he’s done to her. There are fingernail marks he doesn’t remember making; he blinks to see one of her own hands, playing with one of her own breasts. She rolls a nipple between her fingertips and a moan frees itself from his throat. She doesn’t seem to hear it, or care; he sees her dig the side of her thumb of her hand into the hickey, and feels her clench a little tighter around his cock.

That’s new, and he’s going to have to remember that one.

He closes his eyes for a moment, just a moment, because the sight of her playing with herself and the feel of her riding him is just _too much_. Johnny takes the visual out of the equation, focusing instead on the tight wet heat of her around him, the sensation as he slides in and out of her. The agony of being _out_ and the right of being _in_ , and he focuses on the rhythm and the pace and the feel of her around him, of her muscled thighs beneath his hands. Her movements change from an up-and-down to more of a grinding, and he cracks his eyes open to see her twisting a nipple and the pink high in her cheeks. She’s got her head tipped back and body arched back. He pulls his knees up and feels her lean against them. He sees her open her mouth, eyes pressed shut, looking almost concerned. He’s about to ask what he can do for her when she stars making the not-so-soft sounds that mean she’s on the edge.

He doesn’t want this to stop, but _God_ it feels good.

“Johnny-“

“That’s it, babe,” he says, his fingers digging into her, trying to push up more deeply into her as she tries for the last bit of stimulation she needs. He wants to feel her come apart on his cock.

It doesn’t take much longer before she lets out a low cry he used to think was reserved for porn films, dropping down and muffling it by biting on his shoulder through the jacket and the shirt. He can still feel the force of her teeth, but it’s nothing compared to the pulsing of her cunt around him, viselike and the final thing that tips him over the edge, too. Pleasure pours through him from the groin outward, and he finds her mouth with his and crushes her against him, groaning into her mouth. He kisses her, wet and messy. She drops her head to his chest and he holds her against him, hands smoothing the jacket.

“Happy birthday to me,” Johnny says with satisfaction.

“Happy birthday to you,” she agrees. She sits up, and he moans again at the motion of her around him. “Can I get out of this now? It is a literal fucking mess.”

“I married the queen of the mood kill. But you know what? I’m not sorry at all.” Johnny sounds exhausted, even to himself. “Send me the dry-cleaning bill.”

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” She chuckles, a low sound deep in her throat that makes his lizard brain sit up and take notice.

“Go Army. Oorah.”


End file.
